


In the Morning

by psuedopoetic



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Mentioned/implied abuse, Nightmares, bruce is a decent dad, father son talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psuedopoetic/pseuds/psuedopoetic
Summary: “What are you doing up?”His father sighed, pinched the bridge of the nose, and Damian straightened his shoulders and cleared his face. “Can we not do this tonight?”Damian blinked in response.“Okay, fine. I couldn’t sleep. I’m guessing it was the same for you.”“Yes,” Damian answered. It was partly true, but his father didn’t need to know that.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 110





	In the Morning

Damian Wayne had always known what to do. If there was a rare occasion that he didn’t know what to do, he acted like he knew exactly what needed to be done until he figured it out.

All that was simple. He’d been doing that his entire life, nothing out of the ordinary there. Until the “what do you do” became different. It wasn’t “do I injure or kill them?” it was “do I comfort them or not?” Damian, morbidly enough, had always known what to do in the first situation. Those were easy, he could do that as easily as he breathed. But the other? He always came to an astounding no.

People also tried to comfort him, too. He thought they would have gotten the message that he didn’t like to be comforted or touched, but still, they pushed on. 

That was the thing. Comfort wasn’t normal to him. Nothing had ever been comfortable. It had always been acceptable. Moderate. Livable. What was the Wayne Manor? Acceptable. What was it also? Livable.

Whenever anyone asked him if he was enjoying it, he always answered with “my stay here is fine.” But for some reason, that wasn’t the answer they seemed to want. What did they want him to say?

This was a reason he wasn’t sure about anything, another time he didn’t understand but had to.

“Did you think I was going to hit you?”

Damian’s throat was unbearably dry. “Father, I-” Nothing else followed. Truthfully, Damian didn’t think his father would ever hit him. It simply didn’t seem likely. Could he? Yes. Did he think he would? No.

“Damian, I wouldn’t do that. You know that, right?”

His skin was itchy. He hated that feeling more than pain. “Yes, father.”

“What happened, then?” His father’s eyebrows knit together as his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. “Damian, it’s four in the morning, what are you doing up?”

“What are you doing up?”

His father sighed, pinched the bridge of the nose, and Damian straightened his shoulders and cleared his face. “Can we not do this tonight?”

Damian blinked in response.

“Okay, fine. I couldn’t sleep. I’m guessing it was the same for you.”

“Yes,” Damian answered. It was partly true, but his father didn’t need to know that.

“Follow me,” his father said, “whenever I can’t sleep, I get a glass of water. It helps.”

“It does?”

“Well, what do you do when you can’t sleep?”

“I paint.” He didn’t want to paint right now. “Or go to the gym.”

“Damian-”

“Father, I paint most nights, no need to worry.” That was a lie, too, but his father needed to stop worrying about a healthy amount of exercising.

“Did you paint tonight?”

“No, I didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

They reached the kitchen and his father began to fix two glasses. Grayson was staying there for business in Gotham, but he slept more soundly than any of them. Drake was there, and Damian doubted he was asleep. Drake slept arguably less than his father, which was small.

“You know you can talk to me about nightmares, right?”

“Yes, father.”

“Honest answer,” his father said. Not cold, but more casual than anything.

“I don’t want to.” Damian took the glass from his father. “They’re none of your concern.”

“You’re my son.”

Not until two years ago nearly slipped out, and it surprised Damian. Where had that came from?

“I know I wasn’t there for most of your life,” his father paused, staring at the glass in his hands, “but I’d like to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“What your earlier life was like.”

It felt like his throat closed. His father had seen him murder people, had seen him do things he thought were criminal. But what would his father think if he knew more? His father would never speak to him again, he knew it. Even if his father preached that he wasn’t a weapon, Damian didn’t believe it, and his father wouldn’t, either.

Damian picked at a scab, insistently picking until it came off. Once there was blood on his hand, he quickly wiped it away and took a sip of his water. It didn’t help.

“There, you hate your hands.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed and he looked up to his father. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s obvious. You stare at them like they’re your enemy.”

“Do we have to talk about this, father?”

“Not if you don’t want to.” He sat his glass down on the granite counter. “But if you ever want to- to talk about it, we can do this.”

“I don’t want to.” Damian tensed, flinching just barely when his father’s hand softly landed on his shoulder.

“I know they hurt you, but I’d never. Do you think I would?”

Did Damian think his father would ever touch him foully? No. Was he capable of it? Yes. He didn’t doubt his father was capable of it. They- all those who had stayed as children in the Manor- knew his father was.

The hand was gone and Damian’s shoulder felt cold.

“Sometimes, I think I’m still there,” he said, his voice much smaller than he would like. “I wake up and I do what I did there.” His cheek twitched, but he didn’t let a single tear fall as he stared at his shoes. “Tonight I didn’t know where I was. It took me five minutes to remember.”

“You don’t remember where you are?”

“Sometimes. That’s why when Drake was here, when I- that was why.”

He didn’t have to look to know his father nodded soundlessly. “I’ve done the same thing. It’s startling, isn’t it?”

“Out of body,” Damian answered simply. “As if you’re watching from above, unable to stop your actions as they play out.”

“Do you feel safe here?”

Damian didn’t answer, they both knew it. He never felt safe, he didn’t know what it felt like, he didn’t know how to define it.

“You are safe, no one can get to you here.”

“Thank you, father,” Damian said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m ready to go to bed now.”

His father nodded, looking troubled. “Okay, Damian. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, father.”

“Night, Damian.”


End file.
